Antique Shopkeepers and Gallery Owners
by kribby
Summary: Joyce Summers is a trifle bored with humdrum Sunnydale life so she happens on a distraction... Duncan MacLeod!
1. Antique Shopkeepers and Gallery Owners

Disclaimer: I own nothing… not BTVS, not Highlander, not ATS…

"Bills. Bills. Bills." Didn't Dawn listen to a song like that? Joyce Summers sat at her new kitchen table among stacks of open letters, mangled envelopes and half empty coffee cups. The early afternoon California sun trickled through the blinds making her hair glow golden. The old coffee table and kitchen table were in large pieces. The only use left for them would be for the Scoobies to whittle stakes out of the pieces! Joyce knew she couldn't dance around happily like Dawn and sing, "Bills! Bills! Bills!" She had responsibilities to her girls. You would think the Watcher's Council would provide a little monthly fund for any furniture damaged in the service of the good fight. But no.

Joyce had accepted Buffy as the slayer, Dawn as the key, Willow--the witch, Rupert Giles--the watcher and Angel/Angelus--the vampire with a soul. What she could not accept was anyone who visited regularly thought she was a furniture shop-a-holic. Joyce could also not accept that she had balances of over $1,000 at each of the three furniture stores in town. She had spent over $3,000 in furniture in the 6 years she had lived in Sunnydale.

"Humph." Joyce put her black ink pin down beside the notepad that detailed her month's budget. She picked up the red pen and wrote down this week's monetary losses yet furniture gains. Coffee Table: $299 and Kitchen Table & 4 chairs: $329. Just this morning, Buffy had told her about the hot water. Apparently they now needed a water heater because a Pelgora or was it Aelgora water demon had decided to take up residence in the current one hoping to spawn an army of young Pelgoras or Aelgoras. Lucky for the world Buffy's fists had changed it's mind.

Joyce really didn't get it. Let's be practical. If you have a job—you should be paid for your service. How dare these watchers' mutate and subvert reality and turn a job into a noble calling.

Hey teachers have a noble calling and heck they are paid! Ouch. Her head really hurt. Joyce knew she had to get out of the house. There was a new antique furniture shop in town. The secretary at the gallery had told her about it. Rather the secretary had told her about the dreamy owner of the shop. He was a Scottish man named Duncan Mac something. A distraction was what she needed. And dreamy men with accents always had the power to distract Joyce.

Joyce pushed herself away from the kitchen table and the piles of bills and worries. She slipped her feet back in the low heeled pale pumps she had discarded hours ago under the table and walked forward to get her jacket and purse. Giving herself a quick glance in the hallway mirror she noticed her purse did not match her shoes and her jacket didn't match anything. Sighing, she wondered if it really mattered. It was likely the guy at the shop wouldn't notice or even care but the truth was Joyce cared. With that thought in mind she went back upstairs to change. She left her old jacket on her bed and put a nice slightly tight black sweater over her grey button down shirt. She kicked her pumps into the closet and wriggled out of her brown slacks. She slipped her best fitting blue jeans over her legs and gathered socks and medium heeled black boots.

Putting on her socks and shoes as she sat at the edge of her bed she thought. "What the heck am I doing. I don't know this guy. Never met him." But on the other hand what did she have to lose? At the least maybe the antique shop would have a nice sword for Buffy.


	2. Found Pieces

Found Pieces

It had taken Joyce twenty minutes to arrive on Main Street in Sunnydale. She pulled up to the parking meter by the Espresso Pump and parked her black jeep Cherokee. Unbuckling her belt and opening her door thinking, "What I need is a distraction from my future distraction. If I have a cup of coffee in my hand I have an extra prop as I walk into the shop." She also had no idea where the shop was located. The quickest way to find out was to look for an announcement in the newspaper.

It was a pleasant afternoon with the sun shining brightly. Joyce stood by the parking meter putting in a quarter. It felt good to be out and well dressed. She loved the sound of her heels on the pavement. In the last few years she had stopped dressing with serious care. She never really wanted to compete with her daughter or be a Stepford Mom.

Joyce was not one for wandering aimlessly along the streets of Sunnydale, even though honestly there were not that many streets. Buffy liked to do walk-abouts and such but Joyce couldn't manage that too well. When Buffy was walking about she was scoping the town for any sign of trouble or really specifically where her services would be needed.

Joyce knew if she were to drive slowly looking left and right for the shop there would be a good chance that someone she knew would come up and want to chat. She was always running into someone who wanted to showcase their art in the gallery. There art was invariably a "found piece". Usually the work was something from their basement and undoubtedly from some ritual Buffy and the scoobies had stopped. The artist never really knew what they were holding. Sometimes an effigy to bring about the god of chaos or any number of snake demons.

As Joyce walked into the Espresso Pump she wondered why there were just so many snake demons. It had to be because of the religious connection of snakes to the devil and dark magic. Joyce gave a small shudder as she thought of all the things she was involved in courtesy of simply loving her oldest daughter.

Joyce went forth and purchased a medium vanilla latte and a copy of the Sunnydale Press, afternoon edition. She stood beside a tall bar stools and high table and dismantled the paper. Front page, Cars, Real Estate, a separate pull out just for Obituaries and at last the Business section. Flipping the fold out over Joyce went down to the new business ventures sections. Just as she expected there was a small profile of Antique Shopkeeper, Duncan MacLeod. 6 years ago Joyce had been profiled in the same column. There was a small photograph of Duncan MacLeod, left profile of course. The photo showed a long dark ponytail and half of a gentle upturned smile. While the handsome face with its five o'clock shadow definitely entranced Joyce she was more interested in the hair clip. While she wasn't fully sure it seemed the decorative clip was designed as letters from an ancient language. Definitely intriguing.

Joyce scanned the article. It was the same trite that had been written for her years ago with the relevant words modified. The purpose of the article was really to announce to Sunnydale that there was a new business in town not to provide any special insight into the history of the business owner's life. It wasn't meant to be a personal ad. Joyce swallowed a guffaw and read on. Apparently, this Duncan was (lordy she was already thinking of him as Duncan and she had yet to meet the man!) migrated down from Seacover where he had owned and operated a Antique shop/gallery for a few years. Looking for a change he moved to Sunnydale. Duncan specialized in antique weaponry and one of a kind furniture. Duncan was also interested in opening a Dojo and was currently looking for a suitable space. "Dojo" Joyce said aloud. Hmm. This man and his shop were definitely worth checking out. At the end of the article it gave his address as D. MacLeod Antiques, 524 W. Main Street.

So that was where she was heading. The shop was conveniently located right near where Buffy was doing an internship for her Psychology major, the Center for Troubled Youth. Joyce could even stop in after she finished scoping—wrong word—shopping at D. MacLeod Antiques.


	3. Drop Cloths and Coffee Cups

Joyce headed back to her Jeep Cherokee and got in. She hurried down main street 3 blocks to 524 W. Main Street. As she arrived at the 500's block of W. Main Street she slowed down and began to look for a parking spot. Finding one she parked her Jeep head in and got out. In her nervousness to get to the shop she tangled her right arm in the grey seatbelt.

Joyce closed her car door and took a calming breath. As she stood by her car door she chided herself for trying to be extra quiet, as if a door closing on a city street would add too much noise to Sunnydale. Even though she had no intentions of sneaking up on the unsuspecting man she could easily do so. The shop was clearly not open for business. The wide store window was covered from the inside by brown paper. The words D. MacLeod Antiques were gilded in an Antique English script on the flat glass window. The design gave the unopened store front a certain air of elegance and an aged perspective, an almost old world charm. It seemed as if the name needed the words Est. 1687 or even an earlier date.

"Darn", Joyce said aloud. She had been so looking forward to going forth and… well not conquering, just meeting. Inside her there was a little war going on. Even as she began to move forward she was asking herself if she should she go to the window and look in or if she should she just get in her car and drive off and leave the exploring to another day. It didn't take her long to decide—in a quick five seconds she had tossed off all her hesitation and was standing at the heavy mahogany entrance door preparing her hand to knock. Her other hand still held her coffee prop. But the door was open. Without a moment's hesitation Joyce crossed the entry threshold and stepped into the shop.

So she would not be mistaken as an intruder she called out, "Hello?" and again, "Hell-lo?" "Mr. MacLeod?" All the lights were completely off in the room. As a standard precaution against anything that would hide in the dark she lifted her left hand behind her to feel for a light switch. Her hand came across a round knob that she turned to the right and click the lights were on.

Joyce looked around. She was surrounded by large unknown objects jutting outward in every direction. Each was covered with either a white sheet or a painters' style cloth. She thought to herself, "This was definitely a specialty shop." The objects hidden under the cloths did not seem like your standard table and chair combinations. Joyce called out one more time, "Mr. MacLeod?" She suddenly had the feeling that she was definitely invading his shop space but she was reluctant to give up and leave. The main reason was she honestly doubted she would have the guts to return. She looked around a bit more and saw in the rear a dark wooden countertop with and old style cash register. As she paused to callout one final time, "Mr.?" a tall man with a deeply tanned complexion walked from the rear of the store. He had entered the open space of the shop through an almost hidden door between the countertop and a full bookshelf. He was wearing gray and white speckled sweatpants and a hastily thrown on thin shirt of a similar material. The shirt was made thin by age and multiple washings and the neck was missing a collar. The man had a questioning look on his face as well as a thin sheen of sweat. Joyce found that she still had a voice despite his utter masculinity. She honestly hadn't thought "they" still made men like that in this day and age. Instead of a low ponytail, silky brown hair pooled about his muscular shoulders. Unfortunately, while she had a voice- she didn't have a brain. She could only croak out a "uuuh" as greeting.

Duncan had been interrupted from his meditation exercises by a sweet voice calling his name. The voice had called out a few times and he hadn't wanted to answer. Since the death of Tessa he had been avoiding people he had found he could sometimes reach out and almost feel and hear Tessa as he meditated but he had never heard another voice. He heard the voice again but as he was closer to the end of his meditation exercises he was able to recognize that it was not a voice in his head but rather one from inside the shop. He stood up and was walking to the door but his head still felt too fuzzy. If as he expected the voice belonged to a petite perky woman—a member of the local welcome wagon he needed his brain as clear as possible. Duncan knew that a vital part of living in this world was blending with and being accepted by the locals. He couldn't afford to be ostracized from the beginning.

Duncan flipped his body over and did a half head and half handstand. He was trying to get all the blood rushing to his head so he could shake off the last few cobwebs, memories and ghosts of Tessa and his past life.

He stepped from the small training space and into the shop. Facing him was a willowy… was the first world that came into mind but he soon replaced that with tall woman with honey wheat hair, no blonde hair.

Duncan hadn't felt such an instant attraction to anyone in a long time. It was as if his tastes had matured to a woman ripe and not just gorgeous. "Ripe", he thought? No. Mature. He knew he needed to keep any interactions with her as professional as possible.

As approached her he wondered what she had to offer him… as a member of the welcome wagon of course. He noticed that her hands only held a cup of coffee.


	4. Smiles and Possibilities

Smiles and Possibilities

Duncan ignored or rather spoke overtop the first sounds from Joyce's mouth. His lips turned upwards in a slight but warm smile, "Hello" was the first word out of his mouth.

Joyce's whole face relaxed and for the first time that afternoon she realized she was not playing a game or running a race. She was instead simply living her life. Though she had not acknowledged it even in her mind, she was a little lonely. While Sunnydale was not the calmest of locales she still missed the thrill of the adventure of meeting someone new. Also, she knew how it felt to be completely new in town and trying to plant your business feet firmly on the ground. With all those thoughts in mind Joyce returned Mr. MacLeod's greeting and slight smile with a full smile and an extended right hand.

"Hello! I am Joyce Summers. Even though I am not a part of the "Welcome Wagon", I would like to welcome you to Sunnydale!" she said in greeting.

Duncan clasped her hand in his and shook it firmly. As Joyce felt his fingers close about the backside of her hand and his thumb rub her palm she couldn't help but shiver.

Duncan felt the slight tremble and imagined her body was making a musical note maybe a low hum of recognition of compatible souls. Even though he felt her instant reaction to his touch he steeled himself against showing he was affected. He covered any bodily reaction with both words and movements.

Duncan said aloud, "thank you for the welcome. You are the first person to come in and introduce themselves".

"If it would make you feel doubly welcome I could step out and step back in and say hello once more!" Joyce quipped with a wry smile. 

Duncan replied with a brief low chuckle, "No, no that's okay".

Joyce could feel her toes begin to curl in her boots as she heard his masculine laugh. His voice had the quality of deep, rich, dark, green velvet. Every sound that flowed from his mouth was laced with possibilities of beginnings and growth.

As Duncan laughed he realized with a few words Joyce had made him feel completely at ease. He was calm for the first time in months. Maybe Sunnydale could really be a new beginning for him.

"Would you like the pence—penny tour Ms. Summers." Duncan asked. Duncan definitely wanted to keep Mrs.—Ms. Summers in the store as long as he could and he would begin with a tour. Joyce responded with a gentle smile. "Of course, and please call me Joyce."

As Duncan moved toward the inside of the store to begin the tour Joyce fell in step right beside him. She paused for a moment and begin to speak, " I knew I had to come in and introduce myself. I operate The City Art Gallery on O'Malley St." Joyce turned her head to look Duncan full in the face. He seemed definitely interested so she felt compelled to continue. "At the gallery we had a partnership with the old antique shop…" her voice trailed off for a second and she briefly closed her eyes. "Pun not intended there". "Yes, we were partnered with Miller & Son Antiques but they closed down after Mr. Miller, Sr. died. "Mr. Miller would loan… (Joyce put the word in little quotations by raising her fingers.) the gallery benches, chairs and small settees. Usually one of a kind pieces, especially the ones he could not sell because they were lacking a mate."

Mate? Joyce couldn't believe she had just used the word. It brought up unbidden images, clips from Animal Planet specials, flowers, bees and oh my! Other things. Her voice trailed off into silence as she thought. She bent her left foot almost nervously, preparing herself as if she were going to run away and hide. Joyce realized she was almost being foolish. It was a darn good sales pitch and there was nothing wrong with her word usage. She put her foot back—firmly on the ground.

"The use of pieces from the antique shop was always tastefully done and a great success. Mr. Miller would sell one piece a month or so and customers would frequent both the gallery and the shop looking for pieces of both art and furniture."

Duncan thought to himself, "hmmm". Joyce had a pretty good pitch. He had heard her say the word, 'mate' and his attention had been diverted to Animal Planet images and visions of a certain willowy… stop. Yes Joyce did have a good idea. 

"Sounds great!" he said. Though honestly I am not a very modern shopkeeper, I haven't done months of market research. I haven't a clue as to what might sell in Sunnydale. All my pieces have little histories attached to them and are things I believe are beautiful." Duncan looked her right in the eyes as he said the word beautiful. Her eyes were a deep rich hazel.

He knew by his deliberate choice of words and his bold look, Joyce definitely knew he found her attractive. He had no intentions of leaving words as bait. Duncan found it easiest to be honest and see exactly where honestly would take him.

Joyce smiled. She took a breath and smiled again. "Call me Joy."


	5. Buzz and Company

Buzz and Company

Duncan smiled. Little crinkles formed in the corners of his eyes giving him the appearance of a man who loved to smile but had been (recently) out of practice. He raised his left arm and placed his left hand almost on Joy's back. He was about to lead her on a tour of the shop and continue their conversation when he felt the familiar buzzing in his head alerting him to the presence of another immortal. Duncan's face immediately hardened. The smile wiped clear from his visage.

Joyce took just that moment to look again. Her eyes fell on his face and registered the change. Joyce didn't know what to think. Duncan suddenly reminded her of Buffy and the look she got on her face when she sensed a threat approached. Duncan's eyes were vacant. Joyce had asked Buffy once what it felt like when she knew a vampire was approaching. Buffy had told her it was like a sudden pressure or tension in her brain almost like a cork pushing outward to pop. It was as if she was waiting to fight or rather neutralize the threat to humanity. Buffy had said her mind went blank and there was nothing in her mind but the upcoming fight.

For Joyce there was certain anticipation in her gaze. She really wanted to know what thoughts or threats occupied Duncan's mind and preyed on their shared moments. 

Duncan looked toward the slightly open shop door. He heard footsteps and saw the handle turn. "Mac!" he heard called out. "Hey Mac! It's Richie".

Duncan calmed. His face lost any worry and a certain resigned calm settled I his eyes. "Over here" he called out. Richie approached Duncan in a shuffled movement. He had to navigate covered antiques holding a shiny black motorcycle helmet. They gave each other a warm hug.

"Hey Mac—thought I would drop by and see how you are doing."  
Mac smiled and turned to Joyce. "I am sorry, let me introduce you. "Richie this is Joyce Summers. She is the first person I've met in town."

"Nice to meet you!"  
"Nice to meet you!" both said at once.  
Richie had a natural wit and charm said. "Oh it must be the blonde hair… it covers like minds." Joyce smiled and extended her hand.

"So Richie, are you thinking of moving here?" Duncan asked.

"Oh, I don't know. I got a tip from a friend about a job opening at the high school. If I get the job I will get to work with at risk youth. "

"Really?" Joyce replied. Joyce was really surprised. Based on her first glance Richie had seemed like an at-risk youth himself. He was definitely handsome but a little rugged with a beat up motorcycle jacket and helmet. There she was again making assumptions. Buffy looked like a valley girl and here she was Vampire Slayer Extraordinaire.

"Yeah! Definitely. I know I still look it but Ii am definitely an ex-bad boy. I just kept the jacket to scare away folks on my drive down the coast!"

"Sounds like you should be in a boy band, you know maybe "The Bad Boys". Duncan quipped.

"I've been here 2 minutes and he has already started!" Richie smiled. He was very happy to see that his friend was up to tossing him a joke. Things had been difficult for Duncan after Tessa's death. Richie realized Duncan's mood hadn't changed because he Richie Ryan had walked in the door but rather because Mac was macking—wrong word—chatting up a lovely woman. Duncan would probably be happier or happiest as soon as he Richie Ryan had extracted himself from the room.

"Say Joyce coffee! Where is this Espresso Pump" Richie bent his head to read the paper cup. Oh it is just down the street." Richie read from the address printed on the cup 252 W. Main Street."

"Yeah it is just three blocks go one traffic light and park on the left. It is clearly labeled."

"Alrighty—off I go. I need another buzz."

Duncan looked at Richie and groaned.

"What? Can't I make bad jokes? Okay off I go. I will see you later Duncan. You know your couch is my couch."

"The couch hasn't arrived yet." Duncan said with a wry smile.

"Alright. Alright. Your padded mat on the floor of the Dojo is my padded mat on the floor of the Dojo.

"Definitely."

"Great meeting you Joyce. C ya!" and off he went in search of caffeine. 

"Scamp"

"Good word". Joyce replied. "Describes him well. He reminds me of my daughter and her good friends.

"Good friends are a blessing". Duncan said. He had raised his hand again to touch her back and lead her on the little tour.

"So how old is your daughter?"

"Buffy is 20. She is a sophomore at UC-Sunnydale. She actually volunteers at the Center for At Risk Youth."

"Small world" Duncan said.

"You'll find the longer you stay the smaller it will get!"

"Ah have we a prophetess here?" Duncan raised an eyebrow. He had moved to the left of Joyce and with his right hadn uncovered one antique. His hands held the white sheet. Joyce noticed how deeply tan his fingers looked against the white of the sheet. His fingers were well shaped they drover her to distraction. She had heard him call her "prophetess" and her brain had stalled on preparing a proper quip. The problem was his hands were her next distraction. Desperate to keep her thoughts level she turned her vision towards the piece Duncan had uncovered. She hoped Duncan had not noticed any delay in her speech.

"Beautiful" was the next word out of her mouth. "Absolutely stunning!" The first piece Duncan had uncovered was a delicate knight's armor. It was made of steel but decorated with an almost medieval psychedelic design. At every location where the body would naturally bend there was a slim vein of decorative shine—maybe mica, feldspar, and silver and gold. Though deadly, the whole armor seemed small-- as if it were made for a a woman.

"May I touch?"  
"Of course".

As Joyce touched the piece she realized it was very light and almost flexible. "I found the piece in Florence." Duncan replied.

"It is so small. Was it made for a woman?" Joyce asked. She raised her hazel eyes to Duncan's to await his answer. He held her gaze for a long moment before replying. 

Duncan's voice seemed a trifle deeper or headier when he responded to her question.

"Yes it was made for a woman. Legend has it she was a woman warrior and she overthrew a demonic ruler of Italy". Duncan stepped closer to Joy and touched his left hand to hers. He curled his hand around her outer hand and raised both hands to the shoulder of the armor. "See how it bends? This armor while beautiful was deadly to the warrior. She and I do believe it had to be a she had to have otherworldly reflexes to survive wearing this. It is honestly just decorative clothing. It really wouldn't protect anyone from the heat of a sword in battle."

In the moment when he had held her hand it had been almost unbearable to not kiss her. As he had stood next to her Joy had moved her head and her golden hair had tumbled to one side exposing her neck and rapidly beating pulse. The scent of her hair invaded his senses. All he wanted to do was gather her up in his arms and kiss her senseless. 'Senseless' he thought. He honestly didn't know where all this desire had surfaced from. It was as if his soul knew he had a date with death that evening and his heart wanted to get back with the business of living again. He thought he was ready but his brain was not and so Duncan stepped away.

When Duncan had stepped forth and took her hand Joyce had felt her heart leap in her chest. For the first time in years the cause of her increased heart beat was not fear of imminent death. For a moment she thought it was all really too soon for her. Hank had been years ago and Ted also years ago. Her brain made her hesitate and just as she turned her head to consider to accept his kiss he had stepped away.


	6. Memories and Interruptions

As Joyce stared into Duncan's eyes she wondered if life or living was something you had to wait for. And by saying, "wait for", in her mind she meant wait for her brain and her heart to recognize that Duncan was truly an honorable man.

But what did her mind really have to base this impression on? To be honest he looked like a noble warrior but what did Joyce really know. She doubted herself because of her past. Things in life are never really how they seem. Buffy, all 5'2", blonde and bubbly was a true example of how things are truly not what they seem. Joyce knew everyone had substance and a core—some of steel and some of glass.

So her first impression of Duncan was of a man she could trust… as if he were a man worth of a ladies favor… as a man fit to inspire a romance novel… as a man… sigh… as a manly man. Joyce knew if she continued this train of thought she would giggle like the time with the band candy and another man with an accent, Rupert.

Joyce had always wanted a knight in shining armor. All she had ever commandeered were tarnished and corroded males desperate to lord over anything they could. Even though Joyce knew she was a modern woman, living her own life, paying her own bills and etc she had found herself being controlled by these men. Whenever she had wanted something for herself there had been an argument. Once she when she and Hank were upgrading their family vehicle she had wanted to purchase a car with powerlocks. Living in L.A., Joyce had always felt uncomfortable when she had to search through her purse to find her keys and then fumble with the keychain, then maybe drop the key, pick it up and put it in the lock. Joyce had mentioned all this to her ex, then he was still her husband, Hank, at the dinner table. Instantly he had done two things that made her realize that she had said the wrong thing. First he had inhaled deeply as if he were filing him self up in preparation to explode. Then he had waved his fork around wildly as he spoke the single word, 'no', in a tone that could have chilled a broken freezer.

Joyce remembered replying quickly… but… because she had even after 15 years of marriage not learned how to stray from verbal traps. Hank had spoken quickly, continuing to wave his fork. Hank had spoken quickly with a quiet menace, telling her that, 'powerlocks were an unnecessary expense'. Joyce remembered the feeling of self hatred she'd had. Disgust at the idea that she had put herself in a position where she had to seek approval for a minor expense that could possibly save her life. Joyce remembered lowering her eyes towards the plate of food and being twofold ashamed. One because Hank had spoken to her in such a way and another because Buffy and Dawn had heard.

Joyce could almost smile at the remainder of the memory. Buffy had defended her. Buffy had raised her left hand hand and held it palm upward. She had said the word, "Porsche". Then she had made a fist, stretching the skin taut. She made a thumbs up motion and noted, 'Power windows'. She stuck out another finger like a makeshift gun and noted, "impenetrable alarm system'. She stuck out the next finger and said, 'leather bucket seats'. As a light giggle escaped Dawn's lips, Hank stiffly rose and walked out the door.

Ridiculous! Buffy was so ridiculously lovely! In the moment that Buffy had stood up for her she had realized just how small and faded Hank truly was. His brown hair without the luster it had years before and flecked with grey hairs like dust. His shoulders not stooped with worry rather with the air of a man holding anger and irritation in and close to his heart.

Joyce had decided in that moment to never let anyone break the bond she had with her daughter. It was her greatest failure she herself had almost severed the bond when she had found out about Buffy being the slayer. Joyce shook off her self disappointments as she heard Duncan speak again.

"I feel like I lost you for a moment".

"Sorry! I almost lost myself there", Joyce replied. Duncan's face held something that encouraged her to continue. He gave the impression that not only was he listening to her but he might offer some grand insight.

"I was thinking about my daughter and a mistake I once made." As I get older, it is becoming apparent that we as humans should measure our humanity by just how far we fall short of perfection even as we aim for exactness."

Duncan smiled. "I understand you clearly". His smile had a sad quality as if he too had thoughts of his own failures. As he was intent on leading her away to the quiet space he had spoken of so they could finish their discussion he moved forward placing his arm at the curve of Joyce's shoulder.

They were both startled by the sound of a knock on the shop door. Duncan turned towards the door and invited the potential customer in with the words, 'it's open'.

A petite young woman stalked forward through the door. All Duncan noticed was the bright smile on her face. He realized he needed to make some effort to welcome the woman but he really didn't feel too inclined. After all she was really onlly an interruption.

The first words out of her mouth were, 'Mom, what are you doing here?'

TBC (of course)

Memories and interruptions


	7. Crushes and Such

Crushes and Such

"Buffy!" Joyce looked really concerned. For the fourth time in her twenty year relationship with Buffy she felt guilty. Why did every time have to be related to men? As if her relationships were something to be ashamed of? To be honest some of them were… Hank and Ted stood our in an obvious relief. Her time spent with Rupert didn't really classify under shame. Those moments could honestly be put under the heading 'Mutual Adults Enjoying… something'. Or maybe that moment needed the heading 'Mutual Pseudo-Young Adults Enjoying… something". Firmly refusing to stay on her mental meandering walk Joyce addressed her attention to her daughter by smiling.

Buffy looked a little concerned. She opened her next conversation with, "Hey mom, I saw your car outside. I thought I'd say hello." There was a slight hesitation in her glance.

"Honey, I dropped in to introduce myself to Mr. Macleod". Joyce raised her eyebrows pointedly to her daughter.

Duncan felt a small chuckle threatening to escape out of his chest. Joyce's daughter, 'Buffy', gave her mother a supposedly blank stare. Years of reading people had given him the ability to see behind the guise. Buffy was intelligent. Her guise was simple calculation. He decided to make an opening. He put his right hand forward and watched Buffy's supposedly blank eyes lower to his fingers and then glance upwards with a smirk and a challenge.

First Duncan wondered what kind of town was Sunnydale that a daughter felt they needed to check in if their mother was inside a new store. Secondly Duncan wondered exactly what Buffy thought she could accomplish with the challenge in her eyes? And just how exactly would she protect her mom?

Interesting. What challenge could she offer me? This was the last thought that went through his head before he felt Buffy's hand grasp his in a ...  
firm grip…  
no—in a bone crushing hand shake…  
no—in a liquefying hand squeeze.

"I am Duncan MacLeod", he managed to pronounce from his lips. Thank god he didn't have to figure out how to add, 'of the clan MacLeod'. There was only a minimal number of sweat beads breaking out on his forehead but that was because of his ages ago warrior training.

He felt his forearm next began to lose strength.

"I am Buffy". 

Joyce's eyes narrowed. There was something going on here that she didn't exactly like.

"So anyway mom, I saw your car outside. Are we still on for rearranging the gallery? Remember I said… uh…"

"Buffy?"

"Yeah, mom".

"Let go of Mr. MacLeod's hand". Joyce saw Buffy smirk. Uh oh. Joyce really hoped this wouldn't turn into a repeat of the Ted situation. Uh oh. Joyce really hoped MacLeod wasn't some demon… or some robot… or. Uh oh.

"Sure thing mom. Yeah so I said I would drop by the gallery if I had the time… and here I am… I got the time…"

Joyce's face clouded with confusion for a second as she remembered. "Honey, we set that up for tomorrow."

Buffy had a slight pleading look in her eyes… "But mom. You aren't doing anything right now… and I cleared my schedule! No studying with Willow… nothing. I am all yours! You aren't busy, we might as well start right now". Buffy had reached around and grabbed her mom by the shoulders and she was walking, intent on making an exit. 

Joyce started walking. She turned a sheepish smile to Duncan. His face seemed a little pained. "I guess I'll take a raincheck on that coffee. Maybe we can drop by my gallery tomorrow..." Joyce wanted to dig her heels into the ground, Buffy was almost dragging her away, but the truth was she needed to keep up the appearance that she wasn't trying to hook up with the man—she knew she was interested in the man, Buffy really didn't need to know just yet that she didn't mind if things were not 100 professional between them.

Duncan flexed his fingers and looked towards the exiting mother and daughter pair. Luckily he had already made up his mind before Buffy had walked in and CRUSHED HIS HAND, he said loudly, "Sure, I will drop by in the morning. Leave some pieces for me to move. I gladly offer myself to your service."

Joyce turned her head one final time and shared a smile with Duncan. He really was a lovely man, maybe secretly a prince.

Buffy thought to herself, 'offer myself to your service', eh? That really sounded – poetic… Maybe he was a reincarnated murder?

Joyce turned to Buffy. They were now outside the shop. The first words out of Buffy's mouth were typical.

"Mom, there is definitely something a little wiggy about that man! Weird vibes, mom."

'Oh, I didn't notice'.

Buffy gave her mom a wry smile. "Really? What did you notice…  
-dark shiny hair  
-a chisled body  
-a quiet and obvious strength of both mind and body  
-drool worthy lips…"

"Stop it. I am not listening. You are an adult! Stop torturing me!" Joyce exclaimed.

"I can't! Willow would call him mm mmm good! What do you call him?"

"Duncan!" Joyce said with finality.

"Mom you are blushing."

"Stop it"

"Mom! Ew! You like him! You can't like him… he might be a demon or something! I almost forgot… just a second… Giles asked me to drop this card by to Mr. MacLeod. Giles's father used to know Mr. MacLeod's grandfather. I think Giles may have met some of the family before."

"Really? That is interesting. I wonder if Duncan has an interest in the occult or if it is just old books and antiquities…"

"Mom did you say 'Duncan'? The grandfather was named Duncan also." Buffy turned to look at the door of the shop. The name clearly read D. MacLeod Antiques… nothing about D. MacLeod, II or D. MacLeod, III or MacLeod Family Antiques.

Buffy shrugged it off. "I guess in family the Scottish peeps aren't too creative. Naming folks the same name. They probably aren't too bright either… not bothering to add the second, or the third after the name!"

"Hey mom that is something to think about you are interested in a man who might be a demon and might be an a tad inbred!" With that parting shot she flounced back towards the door to leave the card.

Joyce sighed and leaned against her car. Immediately she heard the tell tale sounds of the car alarm beeping and bellowing as it went off and Buffy turned to laugh.

Listening to the not so ladylike guffaws Joyce wondered if she could petition the PTB's for a more respectful daughter.

Duncan was still inside flexing his fingers and rubbing his somewhat numb forearm. He heard the car alarm go off and opened the door to inspect. As he looked outside he saw Joyce standing away from her offending vehicle. It was a respectable looking black Jeep Cherokee. Nice. He noticed Buffy walking towards him… not so nice. Buffy handed him a card in a cream colored envelope.

She wondered idly how long would MacLoed's awareness for his surroundings truly last. She knew in Sunnydale folks had to stop paying attention in order to stay sane with the rash numbers of supposed suicides and death by pitch forks… and large animals escaping and terrorizing the town… the last being the giant hydra that had plowed through the streets knocking over fire hydrants.

"This is from Mr. Rupert Giles, he asked me to drop this by." Duncan looked very cautious. Buffy wondered what that was all about…. Wondered if there was yet another Ripper story to be told… giving him a final scrutinizing look with her silted eyes, she turned and left.


	8. Protective Custody

(I am sorry it has taken me so long to post. I know I am a nerd but sometimes I have a tendency to chaff at that label—pretending that I am not obsessed with the Buffy & etc universe… not writing but thinking about writing—while still reading others' fiction. If everyone who read crossover fiction wrote crossover fiction.. this site would be overflowing. In the name of giving back to the genre which has given me reasons for hours of procrastination as well as the same hours of enjoyment… I continue my story)

Duncan looked downward at the artistically yellowed paper in his right hand.

He wondered for a moment why people were so desperate to surround themselves with age and emblems of the past. Buying antiques, giving fiancés their great-grandmothers rings… even yellowing perfectly new paper. Here he was over 400 and running an antique shop. Age. People are obsessed with cultural history whether they know it or not. Duncan knew he was just obsessed with advancing and declining civilization. Duncan knew the only reason why he was thinking so much was because he didn't' want to open the prematurely aged note. Duncan knew he sometimes felt everyone of his years… especially the painful memories.

Surry, England, The Watchers Academy

Mid 1960's

Duncan strolled the halls of the Watchers Academy. The school was housed in a multistory castle on the outskirts of London. From what he could see the Academy was a converted mansion. It was a standard extravagant three story castle. Instead of herds of servants milling about polishing this or polishing that while chattering incessantly. One or two servants walked about completing their tasks chin on chest and eyes to the ground. Neither servant seemed infected with enough curiosity to even raise their eyes in question at Duncan's presence in the school. To be truthful the fact of their disinterest was pleasing to Duncan. While he was far from undercover he did like to be considered a somewhat ordinary fixture. He was sure the servants considered him a parent coming to visit a child or something of the like.

In truth he had not knocked but instead had entered through a side door. He had come into through a garden door that had almost been completely obscured by ivy. The door had opened into a basement and he had made his way up the stairs of the basement and to his current place strolling the halls. Duncan had seen small pockets of children working in small groups at round tables covered with obviously ancient books. The children were all ages—starting from 10 or so. Very strange. It made no sense for children to be advanced enough to do research using such ancient books. If the books were really as ancient as they appeared it also made no sense that the Academy (housed in such a place that screamed Old Money) couldn't afford newer books.

While these thought went through his head he kept his feet moving. While he was wandering somewhat aimlessly he really knew where he was heading. He was looking for an instructor at the Academy, Alfred Travers. Travers was an immortal head hunter and if all went as designed his time would soon be up. Duncan planned to issue a challenge and then walk out the front door. He knew he would find him when his head would buzz in alarm.

Duncan kept walking—he had begun to attract a little attention. One of the older students had noticed him walking by one of the study rooms. This boy seemed a bit more aware than the other students. Duncan had noticed the boy as well. Not only did the boy seem a little bit more alert than the other students but he was also a trite fearless. When the boy noticed Duncan he paused in puzzlement in his work and stood up. As he began walking towards the door as Duncan walked by Duncan stopped moving. This boy, had a slight buzz—his presence gave Duncan a slight hum of recognition. Duncan had felt this feeling before. This boy would be an immortal one day—but not today. The boy's fearless would serve him well one day.

The boy approached Duncan. The first words out of his mouth were, "Sir? Did you check in with the office? You need to sign in at the front office. Let me lead you there".

Duncan almost smiled. This boy would make a good immortal one day—he was already protecting his own—that is if he considered the other students as his own Hopefully he wasn't just protecting himself.

Duncan replied, "I must have missed the office. I am here to see Mr. Alfred Travers. Perhaps you can lead me to him?"

"Mr. Travers? Sure. I can do that. Before you leave you should really sign in and sign out." Mr. Travers' room is two doors down.

The boy stood still and pointed with his left hand.

Duncan inclined his head downward and upward in thanks and began moving off to Travers' room. What would this boy think if he knew his teacher was actually the former right hand murderer in the employ of William the

Conqueror and current inveterate killer of immortals, pre-immortals and frankly anyone who crossed him. Duncan wondered if Mr. Travers' history would thrill or horrify this pre-immortal.

As Duncan headed in the direction of the classroom, he pivoted and paused, he called out, "Boy—what is your name?"

"Giles, sir, Rupert Giles".

"Thank you Giles." Duncan said as he continued on. The boy had good instincts and a good name. Maybe he could be a friend in a generation or two.

Duncan found Travers' door and didn't knock. He simply turned the handle and entered. It wouldn't have mattered if he had knocked—Travers' knew an immortal had entered because of the tell tale buzz Duncan was sure he had felt.

Travers was sitting behind his desk. His hands gripping his desk. He had not leapt upwards to find a weapon or to pick up anything. The only thing about him that seamed even vaguely worth recording in Duncan's brain was the fact that Travers' lips held the smirk of a man who did not care about anyone or anything or even about his own existence.

Travers parted his lips and spoke directly Duncan. "Have you come for my head? Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, is it? "

"Yes", Duncan replied. There was a certain menace in his tone that Travers would have to have been a fool not to notice.

Travers spoke quickly, a cowards' words. "We are all foundlings—and yet you identify yourself as if you have a family! Who are you here to avenge? You know the words… There can be only one? So what! These lives are useless! Each life must be snuffed out for this to be over so just what crime are you avenging? "

Duncan could see Travers' wanted to convince him that he was in the right, that his violence was controlled violence. The killing of any number of pre-immortals and young immortals was 'right'.

Duncan looked Travers straight in the eye and said, "Stephan."

"Stephan? Humph! He was hardly worth it!"

Duncan said the words—tonight, at the warehouse district, near St. Katherine's Dock by Fleet Street. I will be waiting.

Duncan turned to leave. As he walked he heard mutters from Travers. Travers clearly said the words—"what a waste of time."

Duncan opened the office door to find the boy Giles standing guiltily. It was obvious he had been listening in on the conversation. The boy had to be 15 or so. Duncan realized Travers must have been a role model to him. Duncan felt even more resolve that he would have to prevail in this battle. Surely, Travers had intentions to help Giles along into his immortal life and then snatching his quickening as a vampire feeds.

The Note

D.M.

I do not know why or care why you are here. I am watching you.

Your kind belongs in dark corners and abandoned warehouses.

Step lightly in this town.

R.G.

Duncan had to smile. Yes that Rupert Giles would make a fine friend one day—he was still protecting his own.

4


End file.
